


Waiting for the hammer to fall

by pineapplebarisi, SmittyJaws



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1981, Accident, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forests, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Male Friendship, Mental Breakdown, Montreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-21 15:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplebarisi/pseuds/pineapplebarisi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: They never arrive in Montreal in 1981. Queens tour bus gets into a horrible accident, which leaves the band members lost in the woods, with one of them seriously injured. Will they be able to make it out alive?





	1. Caught in a landslide

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> I just updated chapter 1 because the beautiful @SmittyJaws volunteered as my beta-reader and I´m so glad to have her, because the quality of this story will increase!  
> Just wanted to give credits to her <3
> 
> Chapter 2 will be posted in a few hours!

Freddie still remembered that on this morning, the sun was hidden behind the thick rain clouds. The Canadian wooded mountain ranges were covered with white fog and visibility was limited. Inside the tour bus, whose outside bore the most well-known band name of its time, there was a lot of turmoil. Jim Beach, sitting in the front row of seats, was trying to communicate with the driver but was finding this to be an impossibility as he was being drowned out by Roger's loud voice shouting from the rear of the bus that he wanted waffles.

 

Brian massaged his temples, feeling like he was coming down with a headache, then he glanced at his bandmates. John, sitting in the seat behind Roger, was using his whole body to try to keep the drummer away from a stack of waffles wrapped in plastic packaging as well as put one in his mouth at the same time.

 

"That's not fair!" He heard the blonde whine.

 

"Of course it isn't! This is life!" John answered, his voice hardly understandable over the mouthful of waffle. Freddie had to laugh and even interrupted his songwriting session to watch the action unfold.

 

Roger had unbuckled himself to bend a bit more over the seatback to John and with a well-aimed grab at the package, he was able to snatch one of the waffles.

 

"Ha!" he shouted and triumphantly waved his prize in the air. At the same moment, Jim turned around and saw the drummer dancing on his seat like a hyperactive child. Usually, he would have laughed about Roger's antics, but he was concerned about the bad weather situation. "Sit down already, Taylor! You'll get yourself killed!"

 

It was like he was talking to a wall. Roger ignored his words of caution entirely, choosing instead to urge the driver to go faster.

 

"Go to the limit, Miami! Go to the limit!" With those words, Roger jumped from his seat and danced his way all along to the front row. Jim tried to ignore him and looked at his wristwatch every now and then. It was 8 in the morning, and it would take another three hours until they'd arrive in Montreal. Jim silently cursed god that the engine of the jet they were meant to take had failed. They could have been there already, and he could have avoided this ridiculousness entirely.

 

"Rog. Stop annoying Miami; I'm begging you," he heard Brian say and sighed as Roger arrived at his seat and asked him for a dance.

 

"No, and you can't force me to."

 

"You can't stop me from forcing you." A wide grin was on Roger's face and John, back in the last row, found himself feeling relieved that Roger had stolen a waffle from him, otherwise he would probably still be the focus of the drummer's attention.

 

Jim went back to ignoring Roger's antics and paying attention to the bus driver but he was too busy watching the drivers hands and every now and then as well as the road ahead, leading up a mountain slope surrounded by a huge amount of spruce and fir trees. Out of the corner, he saw Freddie grabbing Roger at his sleeve and dragging him back to the rear of the bus, keeping him away from the band manager.

 

 

Half an hour later, it was almost completely silent again and the eeriness of the lack of sound made Jim uneasy, so he carefully turned around to look at the band. Brian was asleep, his dark curls supporting his head as a makeshift pillow against the bus window. Freddie and Roger were talking about a few new songs, but remaining very quiet, for fear of waking Brian. John was absorbed in a book and had obviously banned the rest of the world from his head completely.

 

Looking more closely, Jim watched the bassist's facial features; he was pale and looked exhausted. The whole band was exhausted; Jim knew that all of them had worked a lot lately, but he could still feel the excited buzz that the band was giving off about the coming concert. He knew that the band still had a lot of energy, at least on the outside, and would give everything they had to put on a good show.

 

"What a bunch of stubborn idiots," he muttered to himself, but right as he finished the sentence he heard the tires squeal loudly. The next series of events happened as rapidly as a series of thunderclaps.

 

First, his head jerked back to the driver who was pushed into his seat by the attempt to hit the brakes on the bus and was now leaning far over the steering wheel as the bus continued to move forward. Then Jim saw the animal in the middle of the road; it could have been a stag, maybe a moose, but the most important thing was that it didn't move at all and the driver obviously didn't learn to aim for it instead of avoiding it.

 

Ultimately, that was what made the next series of events inevitable: the bus skidded on the slick asphalt, crashed through the crash barriers in the middle of the bend in the road and fell down the wooded mountain slope. Inside of the bus, no one had time to prepare for the coming rollover. There wasn't even time to call out a warning. There was only the darkness that surrounded Freddie, Brian, John and Roger all of a sudden.

 

* * *

 

John woke up to the sensation of grass tickling his nose and he rolled himself on his back, a pained groan leaving his throat. His back ached like hell and as he opened his eyes, the sunlight shining on him burned his eyes.

 

As the bassist tried to get his vision to clear, he could hear a voice talking to him: "Wake up, sleeping beauty, we have to find the others." Recognizing the voice as Freddie's, he slowly began to sit up.

 

"Hey, careful, dear. Are you hurt?"

 

Hesitating, John nodded.

 

"My back. But it's bearable. Probably just bruised." John took a short glance at his surroundings and looked into the deep maw of the forest. The road was nowhere in sight.

 

"What happened? Where are we?"

 

Freddie laughed nervously. "If I only knew, darling. Can you stand up? We should hurry up and look for the others."

 

John nodded again and got on his feet with Freddie's help, then he examined the lead singer more precisely. His arms were all scratched up and he had a deep laceration on his forehead.

 

"You alright?" John asked, concerned, and brushed the dust on his clothes off.

 

"I'm fine. Nothing serious, I think." Freddie stared straight into the sun, that was now cutting through the thick fog and then his eyes wandered down the hillside.

 

"I'm concerned."

 

John looked in the opposite direction, and what he saw there gave him a bit of relief; two silhouettes on the horizon, one of them tall and with a head of curls, the other one more fine-boned and blond.

"Looks like you don't have to worry about where they are anymore," John murmured hopefully and tapped Freddie's shoulder. The singer immediately turned around and spotted his bandmates just a few hundred meters away.

 

However, as soon as Freddie looked closer he realized that Roger was limping, and his usually smiling face was contorted with pain and Brian was supporting him as they approached. Brian himself seemed almost unscathed, as he appeared to only have a few scratches on his face.

 

John and Freddie dashed off immediately to bridge the distance between them and their friends. John's back was protesting a bit, but they didn't want to be separated any longer than necessary. Brian and Roger raised their eyes hopefully as they spotted them approaching, but they weren't able to walk faster.

 

"Just go ahead and see if they're alright," Roger said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "I'll be here waiting for you."

 

Brian shook his head. The thought of leaving the drummer on his own had never crossed his mind. Ridiculous. "Absolutely not. You can't even stand on your own!"

 

The drummer grabbed the stem of a spruce right next to him and grinned weakly. "Oh look, this one nice tree just offered me its help."

 

Brian just stared; he didn't feel like laughing. After all, the band had a horrible accident in the middle of nowhere, and the bus, as well as the driver and their manager Jim Beach, had disappeared off the face of the earth. Not to mention that the condition of the other band mates was still unknown, even if they still seemed to be able to walk. Eventually, he conceded. "Very well, but we'll be right back, okay?"

 

Roger rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to wander off; I'll stay right here. Just go already."

 

Brian nodded and took one last look at the exhausted drummer, then he dashed off towards the others. He dived through the shrubbery and had to avoid a few roots, but not long after, he enfolded Freddie in his arms.

 

"Fred."

 

He heard the singer's panting breath, felt the fear and concern he radiated and squeezed him tighter. Freddie's warmth did Brian some good, and now that they were all together again, he knew that everything was going to be alright. Then he noticed the blood on Freddie's forehead, and quickly looked over John, before turning back to Freddie again. "How are you? Are you alright?" Brian asked, concerned.

 

Freddie raised his hand smiling. "Calm down, Bri. We are fine. Probably injured pride, but nothing serious.", the lead singer answered, rubbing the arm of his taller friend.

 

"Have you seen Miami anywhere?"

 

Brian sighed disappointedly and shook his head. "No sign of him, the bus, or the driver. We're in the middle of nowhere."

 

"That's what I was afraid of," John interjected, then the group fell silent for a moment until John noticed an obvious absence in their midst. He knew something was missing. Looking for the telltale head of blond hair, his eyes spotted to Roger who was still a bit farther down the hill, leaning against the spruce tree for support. Before he could say anything, Freddie spoke up. "What's up with Rog?"

 

Brian nervously pushed one of his curls out of his face. "His foot is broken; looks really bad. He said he was flung through the windshield; we told him he should buckle up. Apart from that, he seems alright."

 

John gulped, feeling a lump in his throat. "Through the windshield?" he whispered, shocked. "It's a miracle he survived or wasn't more injured."

John didn't want to think about the condition Roger could have been in. He could have died. Heavy-hearted, he tried to ban this thought.

 

"We should go to him," Freddie said, pushing his way past Brian and John. They didn't hesitate to follow, their growing concern made them follow the singer.

 

From afar, Roger looked like a ghost, worn-out and weak. After the three arrived at the drummer's side, they had to smile, as it almost looked like he was attempting to cuddle with the tree, but then Brian remembered why he was like this. Freddie seemed to have the same thought in mind because his face got serious again. "Darling. Can you show me your foot? We have to check and see how bad it is."

 

Roger was getting pale. " 's just a broken bone, nothing that'll kill me. Besides, I can't pull my shoe off," he admitted and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.

 

Freddie almost had to chuckle at that statement. "I'll help you."

 

Just as he was about to kneel down to pull off Roger's shoe, John stopped him. "Maybe he should keep it on. It'll help prevent it from swelling too badly."

 

Freddie nodded and stood up again. He darted a glance at the blonde boy, then said: "What are we supposed to do with you?"

 

But Roger couldn't respond to that anymore, as he was suddenly feeling extremely nauseous and the world started to spin. He tried to tighten his grip on the tree trunk, but he found that all strength had left his hands, and his legs began to throb.

 

His friends quickly realized that something was off. Freddie gently touched his shoulder, a very concerned expression on his face. Then Roger let out a weak whimper and Freddie, John and Brian watched how the colour disappeared from his face and he started to tumble.

 

"Rog? Rog, what´s the matter? What´s up with you?"

 

His face was as white as a sheet of paper, and he clutched his side.

"I... don't feel so...-'m dizzy." Unable to finish the sentence, Roger's eyes rolled back in his head and he began to fall.

 

"Shit, Rog!" Freddie cursed and just caught the drummer in time before he could hit the ground. With a lot of caution, he lowered him on his back, fear glittering in his eyes.

 

"What's going on with him?!" John asked, panicking.

 

"I don't know. He's so cold," Freddie whispered worriedly. He didn't know what to do; he'd never seen his blonde friend in this condition. He was scared stiff.

 

Carefully, Brian kneeled down next to him and checked his pulse. He found one, but it was fairly weak and erratic. Then he examined Roger's upper body until his hand slid under the drummer's jacket and he froze. Frightened, he gently pushed the material away and revealed Roger's side.

 

"My God." John gasped quietly. The three bandmates looked at the gaping wound, directly below his stomach. At the epicentre of the wound, there was a huge shard of glass embedded in his pale flesh. It was at least at the size of Brian's hand and the source of all the blood that the others now noticed was covering half of Roger's shirt.

 

"Fuck. This can't be true," Freddie said and tried to stifle his tears by pressing his trembling hand on his mouth.

 

"It must have happened during the crash..." Brian whispered, frightened. He felt guilty because he had left Roger alone earlier; even though it was only for a short period of time and it wouldn't have changed anything, he should have been with him-

 

"What are we supposed to do? He...he's going to bleed to death, oh god, he's going to...die," Freddie rambled, sobbing. It was like a slap in the face for him.

 

"I think we should leave the shard where it is, so we don't open up the wound anymore or damage anything by accident," John suggested and crouched down beside the singer. Freddie frowned and tried to calm himself down.

 

"Don't you think we should pull it out and clean the wound? It could become infected," he answered and stroked a piece of hair out of Roger's face.

 

"Damn it, Roger would know what to do. He studied this bullshit," Brian cursed and pressed his shaking fists against his thighs.

 

"Well, let's try to get it out, and cover the wound. Hopefully, this will stop the bleeding for a while," John said and winced as he heard a weak gasp. Roger's seemingly lifeless body began to move around weakly.

 

"Is he waking up?" Freddie asked, a bit more calm than he was earlier.

 

John just shook his head sadly. "He's probably too weak right now. His body's dealing with this injury as well as his broken foot, and we don't know how long ago he was wounded." He touched the drummer's forehead. "It feels like he's got a bit of a fever. That means his wound may have been contaminated already."

 

Freddie gulped worriedly. "Then we should find a way to cool his body down."

 

Brian thought a few seconds, then he remembered the noise he heard when he had woken up. "We could walk in the other direction. I'm pretty sure I heard running water, so there must be something like a stream nearby. If the water's clean, we could throw some of our clothes into the cold water. If we wrap them around Roger, it should help to bring his temperature down," he suggested and waited for agreement.

 

At John's nod, Brian continued: "Someone should stay here and look out for Roger. And if we're going to try and take care of this properly, I suppose we should try to pull out the shard so it doesn't get pushed in any farther and damage anything else. We should do this soon, though - if we don't hurry up with this, Roger probably won't live through this."

 

"I'll do it." John volunteered without hesitating. He was afraid of making a mistake, but given how badly Roger seemed to be injured, anything was better than doing nothing.

 

"Be careful, okay?" Freddie whispered to him, stood up and followed Brian, who was already on his way. There was no time to lose. After a few meters, Freddie turned around again, looking at Roger's motionless figure. "Hold on, my friend."

 

Soon after, both of them disappeared from John's field of vision between the spruce trees, where the fog hadn't cleared and hid a lot of the landscape.


	2. No escape from reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band has some struggles and discussions. But nothing someone like Freddie, Brian, John and Roger couldn't solve, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long, but I had a hard time translating it, so my beta-reader got it really late.
> 
> Now it's here! Chapter 2! A HUGE Thank you to @SmittyJaws who kindly edited my mistakes<3 Without her you wouldn't be able to read this chapter now!
> 
> Enjoy<3

Cold. Heat. A loud crash. Cold again. Voices. Roger didn't know if he was awake or asleep, but he felt as muddled as he had been at the last party he'd visited. He could feel a cool breeze on his skin, giving him goosebumps, but his body still somehow felt as though he was burning up in a volcano. He couldn't feel his legs and there was a strange prickle in his fingertips, but the pain in his stomach region was the worst. It felt like his veins were aggressively throbbing through his body, like some kind of wild animal. He could feel hands touching him; first his forehead, then his cheek. He'd have loved nothing better than to open his eyes to see what was happening, but his lids were so heavy that he already scrapped this thought.

The last thing he could remember was how his whole body crashed through an icy wall of glass and rolled down a rocky slope, just to be found by Brian. Even now Roger could still remember the fear on the guitarist's face. He also remembered how Brian helped him to walk and how they had seen Freddie and John in the distance, but everything after that was a blur.

He was in pain, so much pain. Never in his life, he would have thought to get into such a situation. God, he was dizzy. For a short amount of time, he wondered if the rushing in his ears was his own blood or if there was a stream nearby. Then he felt the sensation of hands on him again, this time they were touching his upper body and as the fingers came into contact with his wound, the volcano erupted. He screamed, as just that light touch sent a painful shock spreading through his whole body. Roger could hear an echo reverberate somewhere and opened his eyes wide with such force as if it could have reduced the pain. His lungs burned as though they were on fire; he tried to keep his breathing steady. Meanwhile, he tried to figure out where he was and saw that he was staring at a solid cave ceiling. Then Freddie entered his view, a smile on his lips.

"You're awake!" he sounded happy, but there was still an expression of worry in his eyes.

"Don't tell me-....", Roger needed a few seconds to catch some air,  
"....-you did that on purpose?" Freddie's smile faded like a setting sun.

"What are you talking about, Rog?"

"You touched me...there-" Roger wanted to point at his injury, but his arms felt too numb to move them. Freddie understood what he meant, though.

"I didn't touch you at all. Everything alright?" he asked, frowning.

Roger panted, sweat on his lips. "It...burns- Shit!" Another scream left his throat and he actually wanted to curl up into a ball, but he realized that it would only make it worse. His vision blurred and his lids flickered, he couldn´t see clearly anymore and he was like in a trance. "God...what is happening to me?" he whispered desperately and grabbed Freddie´s arm while he attempted to stay conscious.

"Let me see," he heard the singer say and in the next moment, he felt cold hands on his skin again. Carefully, Freddie removed the tourniquet that the others had put together, mostly consisting of badly tied up jacket sleeves.

Roger immediately felt how the pressure on his wound disappeared and breathed a sigh of relief, but Freddie's shocked gasp quickly set warning bells off. He raised his head but let it fall back down as he got dizzy.

"Is something wrong? What's the.....matter?" he shifted awkwardly. He was so angry. He wasn't used to this helplessness and he couldn't stand to be weak.

Roger watched Freddie retie the tourniquet and gently touched it with his palm. Roger permitted it, though not without a small grimace from the discomfort. "Looks like an infection to me," Freddie sighed.

The drummer nodded as if he knew what was going on, although he didn't have any memory of why he was suddenly inside of a cave, with dripping stones at its ceiling and the smell of newly-cut grass. "Hey, Fred."

Freddie raised his eyes and moved closer, he anticipated that he would ask him something, that would probably take strength to answer. "Yes?"

"What happened?"

Freddie squeezed his hand tightly, Roger couldn't feel anything though. He didn't know what his blonde friend still remembered, but he didn't want to make it difficult for him, so he abbreviated.

"There was an accident." He hesitated. "It got you pretty badly, Rog."

Roger met Freddie's eyes and gulped as he saw tears coming up.  
"How bad is it?" He wanted to know. Or maybe he didn't, maybe he just wanted to pass away quietly. Maybe he already did, and this was the afterlife.

At first, Freddie didn't want to answer, he thought it would be better that way, but he would have possibly regretted it afterwards. "You lost a lot of blood, dear. In the beginning, we thought that you'd only gotten a broken foot. But... Oh, Rog, you suddenly got so pale and just collapsed. You scared us to death, darling."

Roger listened with wide eyes and trembling lips, then, slowly, he started to sit up, his face contorted with pain. But he didn't care. He wanted to look at his friend directly. "I'm sorry. Wasn't on purpose."

Freddie laughed out loud and usually Roger would have gotten a headache, but for some kind of reason, the sound did him good. "We know it wasn't."

"You know...Fred." Roger paused, he felt his wound hurting because of his sitting position. "I can't remember...everything, but still... thank you. You probably saved my fucking life. But please, don't get mad at me..." Roger tensed up, his breathing was so heavy as if he had just run a marathon. Watching the drummer struggle to breathe, Freddie blinked nervously. "...in case I don't make it."

"No. Don't say that. You'll pull through."

The drummer ignored Freddie's objections; his eyes were empty. "I don't want to die, Fred. But if I do, then at least I'll have you by my side."

Gently, with a lot of care, Freddie stroked Roger's cheek and wiped away a few beads of sweat from his forehead. "We will do anything, Rog, to help you. What is Queen supposed to do without its drummer? No one can hold a candle to you when you lead the way with your sticks in your hands."

Roger grinned as widely as he was able to, he was overwhelmed. "Kissass."

"Well, someone has to do it. We don't want you to feel unappreciated."

"Yeah,...you're probably first in the field. By the way, where...are John and Brian?" Roger asked as he watched Freddie adjusting the wet cloths around his body.

"They headed towards the stream again, to try and clean your shirt, you know? But I doubt they'll be able to wash out the blood." Just then Roger realized that except his bandage, he wasn't wearing any top. Freddie continued: "You should know that John freed you of this beast."

"Beast?"

"A piece of the windshield, it slashed you god damn open."

Roger was getting sick. "How long have I been unconscious for?"

Freddie had to think a bit, as he'd lost track of time in all this chaos and panic. Racking his brain, he found he wasn't able to come up with a clear answer. "If I didn't lose track of time completely, it must have been around two hours."

"Two hours?!" Roger felt uncomfortable, that was definitely too long.

"You looked like a corpse as Brian carried you here. It was horrible."

"Let's just...talk about something else. Please-"

Suddenly, Freddie's eyes were shining. "I can sing for you!"

Roger considered stopping him but figured a distraction would probably do them both some good. With that, Freddie struck up a beautiful note and started to sing with the sound of a nightingale:

 

 

"Another red letter day  
So the pound has dropped and the children are created  
The other half run away  
Taking all the cash and leaving you with the lumber  
Got a pain in the chest  
Doctors on strike, what you need is a rest  
It's not easy to love, but you've got friends you can trust

Friends will be friends

When you're in need of love they give you care and attention.

Friends will be friends  
When you're through with life and all hope is lost  
Hold out your hand 'cos friends will be friends  
Right till the end"

 

 

Without a doubt, Freddie's voice was a piece of art, even under these terrible circumstances. As the song finished, the drummer still had to laugh.

"What's the problem? Did I sing out of tune?" Freddie asked, slightly insecure.

Chuckling, Roger shook his head. "A bit cliché, don´t you think?"

Freddie raised his brow. "I wanted it to fit the situation," he fought back sulkily.

Suddenly, the light that shone through the cave entrance and lit up the darkness was suddenly covered by two long shadows, while the sound of steadily approaching steps resounded off the cave walls.

"That's what makes it a cliché," John commented as he entered the cave with a dripping Brian in tow.

"Look, the cavalry's arrived," Roger joked. He was incredibly glad to see them; now he was sure that they were fine.

"You're awake," Brian marvelled.

Roger examined his lanky stature. "And you are...wet. What happened?"

"He fell into the stream as he tried to clean your clothes," John answered with a smirk, whipping the shirt out of Brian's hand and tossing it to Freddie, who folded it neatly.

"Maybe you should undress as well, darling. You'll catch a cold," the singer said and pointed at his soaked pants.

"No chance, you just want to see me naked," Brian answered and cleared his throat.

"I can undress too if you want. Maybe it'll be less uncomfortable then."

"Oh fuck off."

After that, there were a few seconds of silence until Roger whispered:  
"I'll cry if those were the last words I'll ever hear from you."

Brian started to laugh, it was a cheerful, bright laugh, it was infectious. Not even John was able to resist.

Roger could have cried indeed, because despite his terrible pain his closest friends were with him, his family. And if this was supposed to be his death, it would have been the best death he could wish for. "I love you, guys," he said, fumbling around with the fabric of his pants. The sense was coming back to his fingers, only his legs were still motionless, otherwise, he already would have stood up to give every single one of them a huge kiss on the forehead.

Freddie smiled. "We love you too, Rog."

"Looks like all of us are highly motivated to get out of here alive. What's the plan?" Roger asked, wiping some drops of sweat out of his face again.

Brian was the first who began to speak. "Well, as long as you aren't able to move, we're stuck here, so we have to see that we don't starve. Who knows how long it might take for help to arrive. I suggest that two of us go and look around for something edible. Once it's safer to move you, we're going to find a way out of this labyrinth of a forest."

"Freddie and I will go," John answered and nodded to their lead singer.

"What can I do?" Roger wanted to know, an expression of helplessness in his eyes.

"Stay here and rest. You need to keep your injury still, and it won't do any good if you keel over again", Freddie ordered with a surprisingly strict tone. Of course, Roger completely disagreed.

"I'm already a lot better now, I can actually stand, look!" he babbled ambitiously and got ready to rise. He pushed himself away with his arms, feeling that his legs aren't cooperating, but instead of giving in, he struggled his body upright while using the cave wall as a support. Freddie wanted to reach for him, but it was too late. 

"Ah...what-...oohh."

A huge wave of nausea overflowed him, his vision was spinning so badly that he had the sensation of going head over heels and so he flopped to the ground like a stone. His stomach was twisting, he had to gag and didn't hear the voices surrounding him let alone feel the hands that were grabbing him. As he emptied the contents of his stomach, there was only stomach acid coming out and also the small amount of food he had eaten on the bus.

When he had finished heaving, Roger was lay on the ground, panting. The last thing he heard right before he lost consciousness again was Freddie's voice. "Told you."

* * *

"What kind of food are you supposed to find in a coniferous forest, the hell? Pine cones?" Freddie complained, kicking one of them out of the way at the same time. Then he stopped abruptly and stood with his arms akimbo, waiting for John to catch up.

"I actually thought about something like berries, you know?" John said as soon as he was standing next to his friend and followed his glance down the slope. The shrubbery was clearly thicker down there, the fir trees and spruces were standing close to each other and a dark mist covered the forest ground - although there wasn't any more or less sun shining up here.

"And you think we're going to find them down there? To me, it looks like the perfect crime scene to murder rock-stars," Freddie stated and raised his brows. John had to chuckle.

"A crime scene in the middle of the Canadian wilderness? What are you afraid of? Moose?"

"Now there's a horrifying thought! Those beasts can easily trample you to death, just imagine!"

Carefully, John placed one foot at the steeply pitched escarpment, groped his way slowly along a handhold and then took another step. Freddie was standing still at the edge.

"Come on. I'll catch you in case you fall." John laughed and reached his hand out towards the lead singer, but he refused and began to walk down instead.

"I can do it myself. Watch; I'll even beat you to the grove you pointed out."

John rolled his eyes. Only Freddie was able to say something like that. He ignored him and started to prove him wrong instead.

"I'll be there first!", he shouted and ran off like an athlete. Of course, Freddie didn't want to lose and copied him. They jumped through the undergrowth like two crazed animals, and forgot reality for a few moments, with all its problems and sorrows.

Freddie felt the cool morning air of November going through his limbs and causing him to shiver as he arrived next to John with the last jump. John crouched in a bunch of needles and pine cones with a thin layer of sweat on his face.

"You alright, dear?" Freddie asked and examined the bassist precisely.

"My back is killing me. But I think I can bear it."

"Well, somehow I doubt that. You should get yourself checked as soon as we get out of here."

"If we get out here." John corrected him dourly and forced himself to stand up. Freddie crossed his arms.

"Am I the only one who's still thinking with a small amount of optimism?" he asked, but actually, he was soliloquizing.

A quiet laugh escaped John, not an amused one but a bleak one. "How can you still be optimistic when you are looking into Roger's eyes?" he asked, his facade of strength breaking as his voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

"Do I have a choice? How can he believe that he'll make it if not even we believe it?"

"Be honest, Fred. Do you believe that he'll survive?" John never intended to ask this question, but he needed to get things straight concerning the thoughts of their lead singer.

Freddie hesitated, his eyes were glued to the ground and his bottom lip was moving as if he was choosing his words carefully. "I don't know, John. I'm afraid of what I'm thinking. I don't want to lose him, you know?"

"Neither do I. But we should start to think about what we do in case he gets worse."

"We should be there for him. Ensure that he gets better, but not...Oh...- Oh God, John! Don't tell me you're considering leaving him behind?! You can't be serious!"

Without hesitating, John grabbed Freddie's shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. "Fred. Look at me." Freddie obeyed. "I would never do that. I didn't even think about that for a second; I would rather leave myself behind instead of Rog. He's family."

Freddie nodded quietly. Of course. How could he have thought that? It was Deacy, and they were Queen, after all - a family, as they'd all said time and time again. He wanted to slap himself in the face.

"It's okay," John said, recognizing Freddie's uneasiness. "I don't blame you. Let's just make sure that we don't return empty-handed, yeah?" He pointed eastwards. "I saw a lot of bushes in that direction. Maybe we'll find something there."

John went ahead and Freddie followed him.

 

* * *

Brian removed the wet cloth from Roger's forehead and put it aside, to feel his temperature. He had steadily gotten warmer, the fever was rising steadily and Roger had not woken up since the last time. Brian put the cloth back on his forehead, sighing, then he sat down against the opposing cave wall just to watch Roger silently. He looked so peaceful, just laying there and sleeping - a stranger would never suspect this blonde fellow to be at death's door. Even without any kind of medical training, Brian could clearly see that he needed medical help urgently.

Brian shuddered. He had never seen his friend in such a condition; the drummer's visits to a doctor were extremely rare. He could only think of two occasions offhand: about 2 years ago, Roger had gotten ill after a concert and it took him weeks to get rid of a particularly stubborn strain of flu, and another time he had tripped while filming a music clip and had hurt his shoulder. But other than that he had always been fine, happy and cheerful. This was the first time that the guitarist had seen Roger this bad off. And Roger knew it. Brian had recognized how he had tried to hide his pain and that it had really bothered him to be this weak.

At the same time, Brian was concerned about Miami. They hadn't seen their manager since the accident and he neither knew where he was nor did he know if he was alright. Brian hoped Miami was in a location where he had the opportunity to call for help. He didn't like to think of himself and rest of the band being stuck out in the forest with no hope of rescue.

His eyes met Roger's prone form again.

"You have to hold on until then, Rog," he whispered and let his head rest against the cold stone wall. But he jerked as he heard a strange noise from deep down inside the cave, it was similar to a yawn but somehow it was....louder.

"What the..." Brian carefully stood up and looked into the black maw of the cave, which they hadn't explored yet. "Hello?"

The yawning was becoming a disgusting grunt and was getting louder with every second. He looked at Roger, who was still out cold. Brian was getting anxious and approached the drummer, one eye still on the darkness at the back of the cave.

"Wake up, Rog! I think we have a visitor." Brian didn't know what was happening exactly, but he had a bad feeling about this and decided to wake Roger. Easier said than done because the drummer was still deep in his feverish dream and he was as motionless as a stone. 

The noise sounded like a dangerous growl now, and Brian could see the outline of something approaching them slowly. Brian had to shake Roger so he would finally open his eyes.

"Bri?" Roger murmured groggily as a curly head entered his field of vision.

"Come on, get up. Seems like we're unwanted in here." Brian had to use his whole body to get Roger on his feet, as the blond was too weak to even stand on his own.

"I think I'm going to puke."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Now's not a good time, Rog," he answered and slung Roger's arm over his own shoulders. Roger's tired glance was glued to the ground, his eyes were glazed, his cheeks reddened. He felt like a wreck and didn't like the idea of standing up and moving.

"What are you up to? Where are we going?" Roger asked, exhausted. He sounded groggy and pissed off as if he was demanding a justification for being woken up so abruptly. Brian looked at him, worry glittering in his eyes.

"Somewhere we won't get eaten alive."

"What are you talking about, Bri?"

"We're not alone in this cave."

As soon as Roger heard that, he had to gulp. At this moment he saw thousands of different possible scenarios that could happen, right in front of his eyes. "You're not talking about something human, are you?"

Brian nodded, but before Roger could talk again, the growl got louder. Now it just sounded like an angry snort that wasn't coming out of the depths of the cave anymore; it sounded like it would be straight behind them.

Brian would have loved to just drop dead; it would have possibly been much faster than waiting for his uncertain fate, but he turned around very slowly instead. His heart leapt into his throat.

There was a medium-sized brown bear right behind them, it had black eyes and a moist nose. It was staring at both of them as if it had never seen humans before.

"Don't move," Brian whispered, feeling Roger's heart beating extremely fast. The beast took a few steps towards them, then it cocked its head.

"Please don't eat me. Please don't eat me. Please-" Roger didn't finish his sentence, as the bear interrupted him by baring its teeth and glaring menacingly at the two men.

"Rog, you idiot! That's it! We're going to die!" With a sudden leap forward, the brown bear bridged the distance between the bandmates and itself. Brian's limbs were trembling.

"RUN!"

Roger furrowed his brow. "Of course, Bri," he thought, "If you're planning on carrying me?"

Brian noticed the problem, but the drummer didn't get a chance to complain as he was grabbed by his wrist and was pulled in another direction. He didn't even have enough time to remember that his legs were shaky at best at the moment, as his panic and fear of dying that kept keeping him upright. Even the pain in his foot was numb, although it was most likely aggravating the fracture.

Brian pulled him along like a dog on a leash, the light that was suddenly coming through in between the trees blinding them. "Brian, I can't run any longer!"

The guitarist wasn't sure how far they had already gone. As he turned around, he noticed that the cave was nowhere in sight but to his dismay, he discovered that the bear was just a few meters behind them, and gaining quickly. "Just hold on a little longer, Rog!"

Roger was getting dizzy from all the sudden movement; he saw colourful dots dancing in front of his eyes and wondered if that was the last image of the world he could admire. He was fighting against the imminent return to unconsciousness, his limbs were getting heavy and his breaths were shallow.

Brian spotted a rock overhang a few hundred meters away.

"There!" he shouted and pointed at it, but didn't realize how the grip on Roger's hand loosened and he finally slipped away from him. Roger didn't have enough strength to grab the guitarist's hand again, and the missing support made him stumble. With eyes wide open in shock, he collapsed to the ground.

Brian turned around to look at Roger while still running, and saw his worn down figure laying in the grass. At almost at the same time, he saw the bear approach the drummer's prone form and swipe a big paw at the drummer's foot.

"ROGER!"

Brian feared this was the last time he'd see his friend alive. He stopped, staring at the animal as if he was in a trance as he watched it sniff at Roger's shoe, then suddenly it bit.


	3. Open your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Roger have an argument while Freddie and John are fighting for their lives. Some bad decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting! I'm sorry it took so long, had a few family struggles and wasn't able to write that often lately. But everything's fine now!
> 
> Also a HUGE Thank you to @SmittyJaws who patiently fixed my mistakes <3
> 
> Enjoy reading!

"ROGER!"

Brian saw the bear biting vigorously and at the exact same moment, his blood ran cold.

"AH! Shit!" he heard Roger scream desperately. He wanted to move and go to his friend's rescue, oh how he wanted it, but his legs just wouldn't cooperate. This couldn't be true. A nightmare. Brian acted out the whole scenario inside of his head, how Freddie and John would return.

"Where's Roger?" they would ask, and Brian would have to consider how to break the news to his friends that Roger was dead. Not because of his injuries, but because he was eaten by a wild animal. All of this just because he wasn't able to help him. Because he stood there, frozen, while Roger was fighting for his life just a few meters away from him. He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself for the rest of his life if he didn't do something right now.

"Is it too much to ask for some help? Because I would appreciate some assistance, Brian!" These words pulled him back to reality and he drew his attention back to the drummer in front of his eyes. Roger had rolled himself on his back; his broken foot was stuck between the bear's fangs, while he used the other one to try kicking it away from him. Somehow, it shook Brian. Roger was still alive. He could still prevent everything.  
"Just move already!" he thought.

"Brian! His nose! Throw something!" It echoed like an order inside of his head, but it was coming from the weakened Roger instead. All strength was slowly leaving his body. Without thinking about it anymore, Brian picked up one of the stones lying on the ground near the rock overhang. He felt the weight in his hands and knew he could throw this one far. Brian wound up precisely and then.............missed.

The stone ended up in the grass next to the bear. Shit. Gotta hurry.

Sparing a quick glimpse at Roger, he could see the rising panic in his eyes, then he picked up another stone to try again. At the same time, Roger managed to deliver a kick to the animal's temple. The bear yelped but still didn't open its mouth enough to release the drummer's foot. Quite the contrary. It saw red.

The fangs were pushed deeper into Roger's flesh instantly. He shrieked, then the brown bear started walking backwards and pulling the drummer away from Brian. "Brian!" Roger shouted, exhausted. "DO SOMETHING!"

Brian didn't hesitate this time. He aimed immediately and then baited the bear with his missile.

He held his breath. Strike.

Cold shivers left his body with relief. The stone had directly hit the sensitive nose of the animal, causing it to drop Roger's foot and whimper. Roger crawled like a crab to get out of the bears reach.

"Take that, beast!" he hissed and tried to get up. But both the pain in his foot and the awful twinge in his side kept him from doing so. Dizziness overcame him and he dropped to the ground immediately.

The brown bear shook itself and just as Brian raised his arm again to attempt to threaten it, it turned its back on him and disappeared into the forest shadows with its head lowered.

Brian and Roger exhaled, relieved. That was a near miss. If John and Freddie only knew what they had just gone through.

Brian went for Roger automatically, frowning concernedly. He gently touched his shoulder, giving a sign to tell him that he was there. Roger looked up to him, his face half tensed, half smiling.

"Hey, you alright?" the guitarist asked and crouched down next to him.  
Roger was loath to answer this question. He felt weak and wasn't able to contribute something. Usually, it wasn't like that. Most times he was playing the probably most physically demanding instrument ever and was beating his whole strength out of his arms. He gave the beat and accompanied the songs with his grooves. He also wrote some of them or supported them with his back vocals. Today it was different. Today he was doing the least of all and left his friends alone in this awkward situation. He could have cried.

Even though he felt a bit better now, something in his mind told him that he would soon be forced to give in to the darkness. But he wanted to lead the way with his sticks one last time before he gave in. Metaphorically. He wanted to bring his friends home, safe and sound, and this would probably waste the last of his rapidly dwindling energy reserves.

"I think so. What about you?", Roger said after a long minute of silence, a smile on his face.

Brian's brow was twitching. "Well, I'm in shock, I think. Shit, this thing could have eaten you!"

"Thanks for the reminder. I really appreciate it."

Brian stared in the direction the bear had wandered off. "Where do you think it went?" he asked, still a bit pale.

"Probably back to its cave to hibernate," Roger answered promptly and followed Brian's glance.

"In that case, Freddie and John are going to have a huge problem."

"What do you mean?"

"They're probably on their way to us, but they think we're still sitting around in that cave. Who knows what this beast might do with them when it spots them?" Brian explained worriedly. He didn't want to imagine what could happen to his bandmates.

Roger seemed to understand the problem and was able to get on his feet with Brian's help. He shifted his weight on his uninjured foot to relieve the other. Brian had slung his arm around Roger's waist. "Then we should go find them," the drummer decided, determined to make sure that the others were alright. But it was impossible without Brian's support and he just didn't budge from where he stood.

"What's the matter?" Roger asked, trying to figure out why Brian was so reluctant to get going.

"You look terrible, Rog. I don't know if I'll be able to get you to this cave safely."

Roger eyeballed Brian, who couldn't look at him. "What are you trying to say?" He already feared the answer but wanted to hear it from his friend.

"I'm going alone."

Silence. Boiling anger. Roger's face went beet red, an absolute contrast to his sickly paleness.

"You can't be serious." It was just a whisper leaving Roger's throat, like a breath of wind in a freezing winter night.

"I just want to protect you, Rog," Brian answered, but he knew that Roger couldn't do anything against his decision.

"And how do you plan to do that, if you leave me on my own?" Roger wanted to know.

Brian ignored it. "You'll hide under the rock overhang over there in case this creature returns. But I don't think it will. Lay low and wait until I'm back, yeah?"

Speechless, Roger let himself be dragged to the rock overhang and was dropped to the wet ground. He didn't know what to say. The overhang wasn't that big, maybe a square meter. An amazingly sleek rock was halfway stuck into the slope and served as a kind of roof that was covered in moss.

Brian made sure that Roger laid down. He might be a bit uncomfortable, but definitely safer than he was before. Then, just as Brian stood up again to look up the slope he had to ascend again soon, Roger's patience snapped. "You got to be kidding me, Brian!"

"I don't have a choice, Rog. I have to find the others, and I can't take you with me with your injuries."

Roger laughed, too in shock to respond any other way. He frowned up at where the guitarist stood above him, forgetting the pain his body was in.  
"So you're gonna leave me alone again?" Roger didn't care that he was blaming Brian for something that wasn't his fault. "Just like earlier?"

Brian knew what he was talking about and felt anger well up inside him. "Are you actually blaming me for your condition? I didn't break your bloody foot, Roger! I also didn't ram this fucking shard of glass into your stomach! That was you and only you. If you had buckled up, this might have never happened! If you had listened to us for once and hadn't done all your stupid shit, everything would be much easier right now! Don't you see it, Roger?! You alone are the one to blame for your injuries, so don't you dare try to lay this on the rest of us! Who knows, maybe all of this is what you wanted; maybe you needed another adrenalin rush, hmm? Why do you think the driver didn't react fast enough? He was distracted, Roger. By you."

Tears were running freely down Roger's face. He didn't know why, because somehow Brian was right, but it hurt so much hearing him say it out loud. He also didn't have the guts to raise any objections. What reason would Brian have to believe him if he said that he was sitting with Freddie in silence as it happened? "Brian..." he sobbed, "...please don't say that."

Brian chuckled darkly. "Don't say what? That I just want to be home and that I wish all this would have never happened? I'll say it as often as I want because it's the truth."

Roger had covered his mouth with his hand trying to gulp back another sob. Brian looked up the slope again, breathing heavily after his tirade. "You won't be able to go anywhere, so just wait here until I'm back," he spat and set off.

Roger let his tears run down. He refused to believe that it was all his fault, but deep down inside he knew that he was the one to blame.

* * *

Freddie's feet were aching. He and John had been on their way for an hour now and they had barely found anything. All they had was a handful of berries, which probably wouldn't be able to satiate one of them. John was walking on his right and was staring at the ground consequently as if he hoped to find something edible there.

By this time, the fog had dispersed and now the sun was attempting to shine through a bank of clouds. Freddie could see that it was at the zenith, which meant it must have been around noon.

They should have been in Montreal an hour ago, so Freddie was hopeful that someone was investigating why the band hadn't arrived, and possibly had already sent off a search party.

He was worried about John, who complained about his back every now and then. The singer was sure that he must have injured a vertebra or a disc, but John insisted on continuing to walk even though it probably was damn difficult for him.

Freddie himself felt actually quite good, the laceration on his forehead had stopped bleeding a while ago and the scratches on his arms were more or less only skin-deep. But he was so awfully hungry, the last thing he had eaten had been a piece of pizza for lunch yesterday.

He'd have loved nothing more than just gobble those tasty berries in his hands, but the concern for his bandmates forced him to practice self-control, the kind you would only learn in a cloister.

"Hey, Deacy," he started as the cave came into his field of vision.

John turned to face Freddie. "What's up?"

"Something is different."

John frowned. "What are you talking about?" the bassist asked, clearly confused and stopped walking during the attempt of understanding Freddie's words.

The lead singer pointed at the cave. "Look at that!"

John had to look closer to see what Freddie was talking about, but as he spotted the large brown pelt at the cave entry, he gulped. "What the hell is that? An animal?"

"Looks like it. Can you see Brian and Roger somewhere?"

John shook his head nervously. "I don't think so. You think they noticed it? Maybe Brian fell asleep," the bassist guessed and grabbed Freddie's elbow.

"Maybe they've been eaten!" Freddie made a weak attempt at a joke, but his gut instincts worried him. Whatever was up there, it seemed to be alive and living beings needed food. For example an injured drummer or a sleeping guitarist. Who knows?

"I'd really dislike messing with something of this size. Maybe we should first sneak up and see if they're okay before we do something about this thing," Freddie suggested and nodded to John, who was nervously staring at his hands.

"What about the berries?"

"We just leave them here, lay 'em in the grass and as soon as we've got everything under control, we grab them again. Should it be necessary we go for this Bigfoot."

"Hey, Fred."

"Yeah?"

"Bigfoot doesn't exist. It looks more like something else."

"But it would be pretty funny, don't you think?"

"If you say so." John chuckled, but it faded as he had to think of his friends again. They could be in danger and Roger would never be able to defend himself in this condition.

John followed Freddie up the slope, they crept up slowly, crouching and keeping an eye on the animal at the same time. It was moving a bit but hadn't seen them yet, so they continued their way, hiding behind some fir trees every now and then and exchanged uneasy looks as there were suddenly white flakes landing on their clothes.

Freddie looked up to the sky, seeing snow falling down. Just the thought of it made him shiver, but the frozen water melted at the same moment it touched their skin.

"Hopefully it won't settle," Freddie whispered. The hill got steeper, John felt a pounding pain in his back and stopped briefly to catch his breath.  
"You alright?" Freddie whispered as he noticed his hesitation. John nodded.

"It'll be okay."

The lead singer accepted that they didn't have much of a choice and had to find their friends.

Just before they arrived at the cave entrance, the tuft of pelt started to snore. "Seems to be asleep," John mentioned quietly and waited for Freddie's agreement, but he never got it. Freddie wasn't only mentally one step ahead, he had already left his hideout of bushes and was determined to head for the cave now. The brown bear, John had recognized it as one now, didn't bother Freddie at all.

Hesitating, John followed his friend and snuck past the bear with mincing steps. As both of them arrived inside the cave, John felt Freddie's body tensing up, because no one was in sight. "What the hell happened? Where are they?"

"I don't know, Fred. But we have to find them." John looked around and spotted something in the corner of the cave wall; a single shoe was laying there, covered by shadow. It was Roger's other shoe, which he had pulled off to throw it at Brian as he had told a pretty bad joke earlier.

"They must have left in a hurry," John commented and immediately met Freddie's worried eyes.

"A hurry? What makes you say that?"

"Roger's shoe. They left it here." John pointed at it, then Freddie picked it up very carefully as if it was a precious ornament made of glass, that mustn't break at all costs.

"I would have run as well, with this beast standing right behind of me," Freddie said with a small smile on his lips.

"Do you think they're alright?" John asked and nervously scratched the back of his head.

"They are not stupid. I'm sure they've found a way to escape. Well, there aren't any parts of dead bodies anyway, a good sign, don't you think?" Freddie joked and John had to laugh. Maybe a bit too loud, The sound echoed off the cave walls and was carried towards the entrance, where the bear began to move.

"I think it doesn't doesn't appreciate my joke, darling." Freddie tensed up and watched the animal.

"It's waking up," John commented and automatically took a few steps backwards.

A loud growl confirmed John's assumption. As they watched in dread, the bear's ears turned around a bit, its lids fluttered and not a second later, both of them looked into the dead black eyes of the monstrous beast.

"Don't move," Freddie ordered with a shaking voice. "If we don't see it, it won't see us."

"That's not how it works, Fred!" John needed a second to think. "Maybe we should run."

"Clever idea," Freddie answered. "But first, we should ask this kind bear in front of us to clear the way for us, so we are able to go past it!"

John snorted and rolled his eyes. He wasn't that amused. They were trapped, the wild animal was walking straight towards them and they couldn't do anything but back up further into the cave.

"I've got a plan," Freddie suddenly said, but this time he wasn't smiling, he was dead serious.

"Tell me about it!"

"Watch and learn." As soon as Freddie had finished this sentence, he threw Roger's shoe over the bear and ran off once he saw it was distracted.

John was rooted to the ground in fear. He was completely confused and didn't know what to do. The bear had turned after the shoe, and Freddie had used this brief moment to run past it out of the cave and was now out of John's sight.

As soon as the shoe had become uninteresting to the animal, John could have sworn that it would turn his full attention back to him, as he was almost at its mercy in this cave. Instead, it pursued something completely different, outside the cave.

Freddie.

In the distance, John could even hear him calling: "Over here, fatso! Come on, get a move on, big guy!" John was stunned, too stunned to even shake his head in disbelief. What an idiot. But he wanted to take the chance his friend had given him and so he ran out of the cave.

The sun dazzled him as he stepped outside, he heard birds chirping or maybe he was just imagining it because it was November. It took him a second to orient himself and then he heard a shattering scream.

Freddie!

Panicked, John looked around and discovered his friend a little further away, about where they had put the berries before they had snuck up the slope.

Freddie stood stooped, one hand firmly embracing his right shoulder, while the other tried to keep the bear at a distance, moving in circles around its prey.

"Oh Goddamn..." John cursed and stumbled right down the slope. He couldn't let the lead singer injure himself anymore and came to a halt with a slight stumble directly between him and the animal.

Freddie opened his eyes wide in shock. "Deacy, run!"

"What about your plan?" he asked frantically, fear glittering in his eyes.

"I didn't think that far, Deacy. The plan was over when I left the cave."

"Great," John replied with a shrug of his shoulder. He actually wanted to look at Freddie's injury, but there was no time for that because the brown bear bared its teeth and jumped towards them. They automatically moved back, retreating.

"And what now?" the bassist asked, he saw his life pass him by and clearly saw the new headline in the media: "Queen mauled by Canadian bear!"

"The berries! Go get them! Come on!" John didn't think twice, he threw himself into the grass and grabbed the handful of berries that they had put down there before. As he moved, the pain in his back almost took his breath away. He tried to stand up as well as possible and threw them through the air.

They flew over the bear, who followed the new movement with its head. It was a short moment they had to use.

"Run, run, run, run, run, run!" Freddie yelled and sprinted. But John couldn't get up; his back had seized. He wanted to pull himself up with something, but apart from wet grass, he found nothing in his reach.

The attention of the wild beast turned to him again, and he squirmed with all his strength. He wanted to get up somehow, but nothing more than a bitter wheeze came out.

It was approaching.

Freddie had stopped, watching in horror how his friend was defenceless at the mercy of the creature. But before it could even touch him, a big pointed branch was rammed through his skull from behind. It gave one last growl and then collapsed dead, like an empty shell.

Behind it stood Brian, curls hanging in his face. He gasped, exhausted but smiled when he saw Freddie and John alive. He had already let go of the branch.

"I don't believe it. Brian, you..."

"Saved your damn life?" the guitarist completed Freddie's sentence and then examined his two friends. "Are you alright?"

"No," Freddie confessed, exposing the bloody wound on his shoulder where the animal's paw had caught him.

Brian nodded understandingly. "I'm sure this needs stitches. We have to make sure it doesn't get infected." Freddie swallowed nervously.

"How about you, Deacy?" Brian asked worriedly and kneeled down beside him.

John had to suppress a moan. "I can't get up. But I should be alright in a moment, give me a second."

"That really doesn't sound good, my friend," Freddie interjected, but John just rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing we can do about it now, anyway. I'll have it checked as soon as we get out of here, but right now we should make sure we do get out of here," John replied, then looked back at Brian.

"How's Roger doing? Is he transportable?" Just then, Freddie became aware that Brian had shown up alone.

"I don't know."

"Where is he?"

Brian had to figure out what to say, not wanting to admit the way he had yelled at Roger before he left him. "He's safe. I told him to wait for me."

"Brian." The serious tone of the lead singer caught his attention. "Where is he?"

Brian's heart hurt. He just didn't want to think about Roger, because when he did, the words that he had last said to him buzzed in his head. Terrible words. He still didn't know how it happened, how he could give in to his mood so unrestrainedly and hurt his best friend so badly. Brian was afraid Roger was going to hate him. How could he do this to him? And to make things worse, he left him alone in this bewilderment, with the accusation that Roger himself was to blame for all of the band's current troubles.

What if Roger accidentally injured himself further? He couldn't be selfish now. "Follow me."

* * *

Roger was freezing terribly. Because of his missing shirt, he was able to see the goosebumps on his body and the sight of fluttering snow was causing a headache. He had initially tried to convince himself that he was feeling better, especially now that the pain was lessening. Usually, this would be great news. But somehow Roger knew things were more wrong than he had been willing to admit earlier.

His body was dying.

He hadn't seen the wound in his side for like two hours now and he probably didn't even want to know what it looked like. He couldn't feel anything where his foot was. And there was a black void in his stomach. He wasn't hungry, and the feeling that his organs were slowly beginning to fail evoked gruesome nausea. He was dying. Dying. Also known as the process of crossing the thin line between death and life. Roger didn't want to die. Roger wanted to live and never stop living. Death frightened him.

He looked up into the cloudy winter sky that was halfway covered by the rocky cover above him. Then he stretched out his hand, a smile appearing on his face as he tried to grab the snowflakes. But they were just out of reach, no matter how much he tried.

"I'm alone," he whispered to himself, voice shaking and smile crumbling as he admitted his deepest fear. "I'm going to die all alone."

The smile on his face disappeared and he lowered his hand. His field of vision was becoming blurred, his lids were getting heavy and his limbs numb. His breath was shaking as he blew a little cloud into the air. Somehow he knew this was it - it was time to go.

Roger wished that he'd had another chance to see his friends. Even Brian. Despite the guitarist's hurtful comments, Roger knew Brian cared about him, and he wanted to apologize for getting him caught in this mess. He had never intended for any of this. He hadn't wanted the others to get hurt in any way. In his next life, he would listen to Miami and buckle up. In his next life, he would be more careful. In his next life, he would...his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a familiar face appearing in front of him.

A dream? The face's prominent teeth were hidden behind pinched lips. Freddie? No, he wasn't the only one, there were more. Another face appeared; one with sad eyes. That's what they always looked like, but now they were eminently sadder. John? A third face appeared, haloed by a wild head of curls. He wanted to touch it. Brian?

He heard them talk, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. He raised his hand again, trying to reach for the snowflakes again, but before he could catch one, someone grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. That felt nice. So warm.

A drop landed on his cheek. Was it raining? No, it couldn't be - he could still see the snowflakes falling. The drop tasted salty. Roger licked his dry lips. He'd have loved to have a glass of water. He'd love to have a warm bed. He'd love to be home.

"Roger..."

That was his name. He liked it. Roger Meddows Taylor. A rock star. He wanted to chuckle, but his fading strength wouldn´t let him.

Then there were more drops, not coming from above, but from the corner of his eye instead. What were they called again? He couldn't remember.

They talked to him. He would have liked to listen; to answer and make jokes with them. But he doubted that they were joking right now. Maybe some other time. When they were home.

Oh, yeah. There was something else. He still had to accomplish his task. Bringing them home. It had been so cold that he had forgotten about that until now. But maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could still do it.

He opened his dry mouth slowly. At first, there was only a gasp coming out of it. But then the salt on his lips put the words into his mouth.

"I will...fly ahead...and guide....you....home."

Yes. Very good. Let's do it again. With more strength.

"I will fly ahead...and...guide you....home."

More.

"I will fly ahead and guide you home."

There. Now he got it. They were smiling. He would have liked to do the same.

Finally, he could do something. Bring them home, Roger.

Bring them home.

 

Dizziness.

 

Darkness.

 

Silence.


	4. Look up to the sky and see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger makes his final journey, while Freddie, John and Brian are suddenly confronted with their worst nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm so glad I was able to finish this story and I'm so thankful for all your feedback! It really motivated me, so without you and especially without my dear @SmittyJaws this fanfic could have never happened!
> 
> I would also love some feedback for the little song I wrote, it's an original by me and I'm very insecure about it ^^'
> 
> I really love you guys!
> 
> And now enjoy the final chapter <3

John had never thought about what life would be like without Roger. God, he never wanted to think about it. His friends were important to him. They were his family. His whole life. He didn't want to lose his life.

John had also never thought about having to hold Roger's hand as he slowly passed away.

They had reached the rock overhang. They had seen Roger, his bluish skin and his slight trembling. They had seen him clearly and unambiguously. The only thing they couldn't see was the life in his eyes. He'd blinked at them like a confused animal. He had reached for them and at that moment John had taken his hand and grasped it firmly.

But Roger himself had already been far away.

"He's dying," he had heard Freddie say. As if it was nothing special. But John had known Freddie had been crying; so was Brian. Maybe even himself. He couldn't remember.

"Roger..." Brian had whispered and John had closed his eyes to send one prayer after another to heaven.

Now they were sitting there. Right by Roger's side, just like he wanted. As he had wished. How could they let him go? Go on without him?  
"Don't cry, darling. Please don't cry," Freddie said in a trembling voice and wiped the drummer's tears off his cheek. Roger was only a shell, his gaze gliding past them as if he no longer perceived them properly. Then Brian broke down and suddenly started to talk, sobbing:

"Listen to me, Roger. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. None of this is your fault. Forgive me, please. We're gonna make it home, mate. I know we are. All you gotta do is hang in there."

As if Roger had heard him, a light smile suddenly appeared on his lips. That sweet smile. They'd never see it again. Never. Brian couldn't smile. He felt terrible.

They all paused when they saw Roger slowly open his mouth and noticed that he wanted to say something. The first two attempts were hardly understandable, so quiet and powerless. But the third time, they could understand him.

"I will fly ahead and guide you home."

It was as if he had kicked them in the pit of the stomach and brought them back to reality. He was going to die. He knew it himself. They all knew, but none of them wanted to admit it.

They still smiled. Of course, he'd take them home. He was the only one who could. Roger's eyelids flickered, then very slowly, they closed and his trembling ebbed away. Above his mouth, the little cloud had disappeared into thin air. He was gone.

John squeezed his hand even harder. "Don't get lost up there. We won't be able to be there to help you."

John looked at Freddie, whose face showed an irrepressible rage.  
"You idiot," he said. " You fucking idiot. You are supposed to play tonight-" a sob interrupted him, he rubbed his rough palm over his eyes.

"You are supposed to go out there and play. They love you, Rog. They would have been thrilled. I don't know what to say, can you believe that? You've left us, suddenly you're gone, and...and we...we're supposed to move on. You idiot."

Very gently, Brian slipped a little closer and put his hand on the spot where Roger's heart was. He tried to find a pulse, but he couldn't. Actually, he didn't want to say it, but nobody else would.

"He's dead. His heart...it's not beating anymore."

Nobody said anything. How could they? It was all a nightmare. It had to be. After all, Roger would never give up just like that. He would never...leave. Would he?

"I've known you since I was 21, Rog. 13 years now, and I've never regretted even a second of it. I won't forget you for the next 13 years, mate." Brian had to pause, somehow he was sick, but it was important to him to say goodbye to his best friend. "And the 13 years after that, I won't forget you either. Until we meet again, alright? You'll have to wait a bit for me, but I'll hurry-" he burst into tears again, unable to hold it in any longer.

What was he doing here?

He knew Roger hated religion. And yet, at that moment, he prayed to God for his sake.

"You were getting better," John whispered suddenly. "You could talk, not as much as usual, but at least something. You could walk a little. You could laugh and swear. You were able to tell us you loved us. Why couldn't you stay with us? What went wrong?" John didn't cry. He was terribly torn inside, but he did not dare shed another tear, because it felt like he was accepting his friend's death.

He would never be able to.

"Remember that song, darling?" Freddie asked although he knew the drummer couldn't hear him. "The song we wrote this morning? I was working on it when you fell asleep earlier. Maybe you'd like to hear it? It's just for you."

Freddie's voice trembled, the sadness made him sing lower than usual, but somehow it gave the lyrics a special feeling:

 

"I am the king of the world, can't you see?  
And whenever my heart calls for you  
And chaos is breaking out inside me,  
I'll send my soldiers away  
to force the resistance down  
You are gone and I still pray  
On my head a golden crown  
I am the king of my own, can't you see?  
Whenever my heart calls for you  
And it burns in the streets inside of me  
I command my army to do all it can  
To silence it again  
Till it's gagged, broken and locked  
away  
and finally obeys me, so you can stay"

 

The others had listened eagerly, John had stroked Roger's hand along the way, and just as Freddie had finished the final word, he lowered it gently onto the drummer's upper body. "That's beautiful, Fred."

The lead singer just nodded thankfully, but then let his head sink quietly into his hands. "I don't want him to go," he whispered, sobbing.

"He's long gone, Fred. He won't come back," John said and touched his arm soothingly.

"What do we do now?" Brian asked, shaking.

"I don't know."

* * *

 

The horizon in front of his eyes had faded a while ago. The stars above him were the only orientation he still had and the ground under his feet was invisible.

Where the hell was he?

Roger felt surprisingly light, he wanted to take a few steps straight ahead, but couldn´t say exactly where he was.

The sky that surrounded him was deep black and only he himself radiated a sinister light.

Was he dead? It seemed that way. Too bad. He would have liked to have stayed a little longer on earth because he had so much that kept him there.

Brian, for example. His best friend for 13 years and the closest relationship he could ever have had with another human being. And Freddie. The most incredible and lovable person he had ever met in his entire life. Then there was John. He was like a brother to him and lived in a huge part of his heart, forever. They were gone. He saw nothing but emptiness. No lights to illuminate a city, no people to breathe life into it. The stars in the firmament had faded now as well. Like a sun that disappeared at dusk.

Today was a special day. November 24, 1981. Tonight they would have had their first performance in Montreal, Canada. Roger hadn't thought that he would die before that when he got on the tour bus. All this came unexpectedly. The fans wouldn't be thrilled when they heard that the concert had been cancelled. After that, maybe they'd cry for him if they found out why.

It was a month before Christmas. Roger had never liked it when acquaintances of his died just before a holiday.

"This is the first year without him," everyone said then, and at that moment the whole holiday atmosphere was destroyed. That pulled him down.

In a month, Queen would be celebrating their first Christmas without him. They would give each other presents, bake cookies, decorate the Christmas tree and eat gingerbread, but all this while thinking about him all the time. That was no way to celebrate. That was no way to live.

He knew he'd miss them. But he also knew that he couldn't go back anymore and the hardest thing for him was to know that the world would continue to spin even without him.

When he took a step and looked down, he froze. Through the surface, he saw an underwater world of lights. Like a town. No, it was a town. Hallelujah, a town! Civilization! That´s what they had been looking for all along! That's where he wanted to take them.

Oh yeah.

He forgot that again. Take them home, Roger. That was an order; your own order.

"I will fly ahead and guide you home."

Fly, Roger, fly!

"Don't even try it."

Yikes.

Roger turned around in wonder, feeling a warm breeze enveloping his body. In front of his eyes, he saw a person who he vaguely recognized, but was ashamed that he could not remember him. It was a man, relatively tall, with a dark uniform and deep furrows on his face.

"What was your name again?" Roger asked, examining the man who had approached him. His eyes seemed lifeless and his skin was so pale.  
"Curt Lawrence. You don't remember me, do you?"

Roger hesitantly shook his head.

"I was your driver, Mr. Taylor. I died. All alone. When I was thrown out of the bus I landed on a hard rock, I heard my spine break apart. Then I was crushed by the falling vehicle. I died." 

Roger tried to process the information, stretching out his hand and touching Curt's cheek carefully. He flinched. "Curt. You're dead?"

He nodded.

Roger's face was suddenly filled with deep sorrow. "I didn't mean to cause this."

"It wasn't your fault." Curt smiled cheerfully and reached for Roger's hand, which was still on his cheek. "And now you're here. I'm not alone anymore."

Roger smiled a little, then stared at the ground and saw the warm lights flickering again, they were dancing.

"What about Miami?"

"Mr. Beach is alive. He was so lucky; I'll tell you that. I've been watching him from up here for a while. He was looking for you, oh, he was looking for so many hours. Then he met a group of hikers."

Roger's eyes began to glow. For the first time in some time, he finally had hope again. "That means help's on the way?"

Curt nodded, smiling. "They're coming home, Mr. Taylor."

"They're coming home," the drummer repeated, overwhelmed by happiness. Then he paused. "What shouldn't I try?" Roger asked, confused.

Curt raised his brow, he didn´t really know what the drummer meant. "Excuse me?"

"You said earlier, that I shouldn't even try," Roger explained more emphatically and got a sigh from the driver as a response.

"You wanted to help them, didn't you? Show them the way home? There's no point as long as you are up here. They can't see you, and can't hear you either," Curt replied, briefly pointing to the invisible horizon.

Roger swallowed worriedly. "Am I dead?"

Curt thought for a few seconds, holding his index finger thoughtfully pressed to his lips. "I'm not quite sure. Actually, everything speaks for it. But you shine so brightly, I can't explain why."

"That´s a good sign, isn't it?"

"Possibly."

Roger smiled. "Have you come to terms with your death, Curt? Cause I couldn't. There's so much in the world I'd miss."

Curt didn't know what he was going to say. He thought he'd accepted it. But now, when the question suddenly came up, he couldn't answer it. He'd miss his family. His wife and his children, who were probably still at home in Birmingham, sitting by the phone waiting for his call to tell them that he was fine. He'd miss the hot coffee in the morning and the hard butter on his toast. He'd miss the cold showers at night and the smell of gasoline. He would miss his wife's fuzzy slippers and his daughter's cheeky tooth gap. He would miss the bad romances which his mother wrote and which he had never read, he would miss the cheering up "Good Morning!" of his pastor and the long night rides with the band. All that and much more.

Suddenly it didn't feel to Curt like he had come terms with his passing. "No," he finally replied. "I don't think I ever could."

"Did you have a family?"

Curt didn't want to talk anymore, so he just nodded lightly.

"Do you regret anything in your life?"

Curt had to think again. Regret? A difficult word. So steadfast and yet so insecure. What could he regret? To have ever left his family behind to drive one of the greatest bands of all time around the globe? He might. But that wouldn't be fair. He had the best time of his life. No. He didn't regret that.

"There's nothing, I suppose. I can't complain. How about you, Mr. Taylor?" Curt finally replied and then crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Roger didn't have to think long. "No. I loved my life the way it was. More importantly, I lived it. I don't think I could regret anything because every decision I made and every path I took made me who I was just before my death. Roger Meddows Taylor. Sounds cool, doesn't it?" Roger smiled proudly, both outwardly and to himself. Somehow he had the feeling that this was the moment when he accepted his death.

He'd seen a lot. He had travelled all over the world, met a lot of people and made them smile with his music. He had been able to experience the pure feeling of goosebumps so many times when he stood on stage and had experienced funny stories that he would have liked to tell his son Felix later when he was older and maybe many other children as well. He had met Debbie and started to build a life together with her. Every day he had done what he loved, with the people he loved at his side.

He'd be an idiot if he mourned now. Everything was done. He had lived a short but great life. The life of his life. Awesome.

"I think I'm ready to go."

"What about your light?"

"It's going to guide them home."

 

* * *

 

Freddie was the first to hear the sound of the helicopter. They had sat at Roger's side for at least two hours, held his hand and remained silent, not knowing what to do. No one had broken the silence. They didn't dare.

Brian had fallen asleep, John had slumped against the guitarist's shoulder, but his eyes were still wide open, while Freddie had stared aimlessly into the grey winter sky.

"There! Do you hear that?" Freddie suddenly said and lept to his feet, his eyes didn't look away from the sky. Brian had woken up, and John stood up slowly next to Freddie and tried to follow his gaze. Then he also heard the engine sounds of a helicopter.

It was very close.

Oh, thank God for that.

"I can't believe it," Brian whispered, stunned. Only a few seconds later a dark spot appeared between the treetops of the fir trees and spruces, which moved steadily.

"We're saved. They found us!" John cheered, smiling, as he gave Freddie a pat on the back.

"Thank you, Roger," the lead singer whispered to himself, watching the stain take shape and now float as a helicopter just a few meters above the ground.

Brian waved his arms to draw attention to the group. He knew the pilot had seen him long before, but it felt better that way.

"They're landing! They're landing here! We're coming home, can you believe it?" John sighed with relief and felt tears gathering in the corner of his eye.

The helicopter dropped off in the wet grass, right in front of them. The band members had to protect their eyes with their arms from flying dirt. Gradually the rotor blades began to turn more slowly, and the men could make out the large red "A" that was printed in the middle of the black armour of the machine, looking very similar to the Ontario ambulances.

The sliding door opened and Freddie couldn't see at all, so four paramedics jumped out of the helicopter, packed with first aid kits and a stretcher. The headlights of the helicopter reflected off of the paramedic's uniforms, making Freddie's eyes burn.

"Are you hurt? Is everyone alright?" one of the paramedics asked and looked at all three, then his eyes fell on Roger, who was still lying under the rock overhang, cold and untouched. Brian immediately grabbed the paramedic by the arm and dragged him over to Roger's still body, while the other three kept an eye on John and Freddie.

"This seems to be infected," the smaller one remarked in a worried tone, pointing to Freddie's shoulder wound.

"What about you?" the other one asked John, noticing his bent posture, then asked him to lift up his shirt.

John and Freddie were in shock. They couldn't answer the questions of the paramedics at all and were still quiet and still, only moving when told to. They wanted to be happy. But the thought that the help was only two hours late to save Roger's life tore them apart internally.

He could have lived.

Shit.

 

* * * 

 

"Look at them, Curt. They're not happy. I don't understand," Roger said sadly, looking down through the invisible ground into the woods, seeing his friends and the medical staff. He would have loved to be with them.

"What don't you understand about that, Mr. Taylor? Did you think your friends wouldn't grieve for you?" Curt replied from where he was standing off to his left, frowning as he turned to face the drummer.

"No, it's not that."

"Then what?"

"Of course they grieve. But they're going to get home, don't they know that?" Roger asked desperately. He knelt on the ground, the world lay at his feet. Agitated, he clenched his hands to fists with which he supported himself on the surface. Then the first tear fell from his eyes onto his knuckles, found its way down, flowed through the surface and became a snowflake, which fell down on the other side and floated from the winter sky to the ground.

More and more followed, and if Roger had paid more attention, he could have sworn that he had almost caused a snowstorm. His sobbing had no echo. The sky above him was endless, no ceiling or wall where the sound could bounce off.

"Don't worry, Mr. Taylor. I know you don't want to go. I knew it from the start," Curt said, gently laying his hand on Roger's shoulder.

"And?"

"You know, I don't think your time has come yet."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't tell me that you don't feel the paramedic's warm hands on your body. Don't feel bad. I'm happy for you."

"I...I still don't know-"

"Thank you for coming by, Mr. Taylor."

"Coming by?"

"You won't be here for long, my friend. Your time hasn't come yet. Go home," Curt whispered and smiled.

Roger knew Curt was right. He could really feel the warmth of the hands. And suddenly he felt more alive than ever. The glow that surrounded his body became brighter, stronger.

"Wake up, Mr. Taylor."

"Curt, I...." Roger didn't know what to say to the man. He had done so much for him, even though he hardly knew him.

"They're waiting for you. I'm sure we'll see each other in another life. Until then."

Then Roger smiled, too. Of course. His time wasn't here yet. He still wanted to live.

"Goodbye, Curt."

"Goodbye, Mr. Taylor."

 

* * *

 

"Freddie! John! Come here! Now!" Brian's voice suddenly echoing through the air made them turn around from where they were seated with paramedics looking over them. Brian sat next to Roger, watching the paramedic palpate Roger's injury, but surprisingly there was a smile on his face, tears rolling down his cheeks.

John and Freddie didn't hesitate, they immediately headed over as quickly as possible to their friend and fell to their knees next to him. Without having to say anything, Brian lifted his head, looked briefly at Roger again and then back at the other two.

"He's alive," the guitarist said, closing his eyes happily for a moment.

John would have just liked to have just jumped up and praised some higher power, but instead, he grabbed Freddie's hand, staring stunned at his friend's motionless body.

"How...is that...possible?"

The paramedic put an oxygen mask on the drummer's face and then waved his colleagues over so they would bring the stretcher.

"His heart. It had stopped beating."

"It was beating, but not audible," the paramedic corrected. "The cold has cooled his body down to such an extent that his brain hardly needed any oxygen, so the heart had to pump less blood through his veins. That's probably why he seemed dead. He's only in a kind of resting state. He's still very weak, but I'm optimistic he'll make it."

It was like music in their ears. Their worst fears had turned out to be a misunderstanding. Roger was alive. Alive. Not dead. He never left them. He had been with them the whole time. They didn't even know what to say. So they just kept quiet and let their relief take over the moment.

After a few minutes, the paramedics were ready and had packed up their stuff again. Roger was taken to the helicopter with a stretcher and was strapped down. John, Freddie and Brian sat down with him, never taking their eyes off their friend.

"Mr. Beach is already waiting in the hospital for your arrival," the pilot shouted to them and Brian nodded. So Miami was fine, too. Thank god.

 

* * *

 

The flight had gone well, they had been taken to the nearest hospital where Jim had been waiting for them with a look of sheer relief. They had fallen into his arms as if they hadn't seen each other in years. They were also informed of the death of their driver Curt Lawrence and met his wife and daughter locally. It was terrible.

The only thing that had given them support was Roger, whose vital signs were improving slowly day by day. The press had already settled in front of the hospital, but none of them were let in. It was just too early for that, and none of them were in any kind of state to talk to anyone.

Almost every night they sat at Roger's bed, only leaving when an examination was necessary or they themselves had to be re-examined.

Freddie's wound was healing well, the infection was fought with antibiotics, then it was sutured up. He had to wear a sling to help immobilize his shoulder, but he was told he wouldn't have to wear it for long.

John's back got better, too. It turned out one of his vertebrae was cracked; it had been a miracle that he had been able to walk all this time. He was operated on almost right away when they arrived at the hospital, and the vertebra was secured with screws. John got a support bandage that he had to wear for a few weeks and had to spend a few days in a wheelchair while he healed from the surgery.

Brian had been having mental problems since the accident. He had always been the most vulnerable to emotional strain, and this incident was no different. He was having a lot of difficulties sleeping, as he was terrified to let any of the others out of his sight. When he could actually fall asleep, he was usually plagued by terrible nightmares. But he was glad to have his friends by his side. They helped him through it and supported him wherever they could.

The band members had been thinking about the past hours for a long time. The relief about their rescue and especially about Roger's condition almost overwhelmed them, because after the horror accident they had actually managed to keep each of them alive. Except for Curt. 

They had planned to go to his funeral and support his family as much as possible. 

But the most important thing to them was still Roger. He was alive. Not dead. The two hours in which they had sat silently at his side, convinced of his passing, had been the worst time of their lives. God, how broken they' ve been.   
God, how they've been dashed to the ground. 

But now everything would be all right. They knew that.

 

Roger woke up a week after the accident for the first time. Freddie had fallen asleep at the edge of his bed with his head laying on Roger's chest. Brian, too, slept on a couch opposite the bed, albeit somewhat restlessly. He had wrapped himself in a thin blanket and had curled up so that he could fit on the small seat.

John, on the other hand, was awake and sitting at Roger's bedside, a book in his hand. Then he heard a soft moan and looked up. Overjoyed, he noticed Roger's eyelids flickering and slowly opening. He immediately dropped the book. He would have liked to have stormed by his side, but the wheelchair stopped him.

"Deacy..." Roger whispered quietly and smiled at the bassist.

"Rog! You're awake."

Roger stirred under his thick blanket as soon as he discovered the IVs. That woke Freddie up and finally Brian as well.

Freddie stared at the drummer with sleepy eyes, and didn't seem to realize what was going on at first, but jumped up from his chair as soon as he understood.

"Roger, darling!"

"Rog!"

Both fell on him and wrapped their arms around him. They were all warm. Then he looked at John, who seemed like he was about to cry.

Roger smiled gently. He was home. And he never wanted to leave.

Never again.


End file.
